Forbidden
by Cait Mur
Summary: What is life like sixteen years after the turn? Is Team Family still together? Has civilization re-built itself? What's in store for the next generation? Told from the POV's of Judith and Hershel Jr. about how life has settled for our beloved characters.
1. Chapter 1 - Beyond the Walls

**Forbidden**

 **Chapter** **1 -** Beyond The Walls

 _ **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD. Also, I haven't read the comics. I only know that Maggie becomes the leader of the Hilltop and names the baby Hershel and that's where this idea kind of stemmed from, so the details may not line up with what's happened/happening in the comic books._

 _ **READER WARNING:** Crude language / Racist themes in this chapter._

* * *

It was December.

At least, that's what Mr. Porter had told the kids. Carl said they couldn't _really_ know. They lost track of time for a few years, and they could never really know for sure.

Judith didn't care though, because in December, even if that wasn't really the month they were in, they celebrated Christmas and it was her favorite holiday. Holidays were a recent concept for the kids. Something from _the old world_. A new word to learn. Define: holiday. Noun. A day of festivity or recreation when no work is done.

In the old days, back when things were _different_ , Carl said they used to chop down trees and bring them inside and decorate them with strings of electric lights and plastic balls. Parents would lie to their kids about some fat man who'd fly down the chimney to deliver _presents_. Wrapped in _paper_. Glittery, shiny paper, wrapped around cardboard boxes with big obnoxious crimped bows, just so they could be torn apart and discarded in the trash in big heaping, stinking mounds for the _garbage men_ to take. They'd make cookies, Carl would reminisce. Real, fresh cookies with real fucking butter, not that oat and raisin shit that Carol scraped together and called a cookie.

All of it seemed like a waste of time and effort to Judith. Unpractical. And it wasn't like the Alexandrian's to do anything unpractical.

Judith read all about holidays in the books they had at the library, scoffing, once she'd learnt to read at a wise seven years old, that any child would believe in imaginary creatures. There was nothing left to the imagination anymore.

There were no walkers in the books. No guns or blood or gore. It was all fairytales and princesses with happy endings and shit. Judith much preferred Christopher Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ , or J. D. Salinger's _Catcher in the Rye_. The edgy stuff Michonne kept in her own personal library she'd sometimes rifle through. It was thrilling, a little naughty, reading those books - teenage rebellion and all that.

That sort of teenage disobedience used to be _different_. Different like how you could walk into the grocery store and buy fresh orange juice and cheese and something called "greek yogurt". When produce came off a shelf into a bag, not plucked from the plant. Different like how you could watch live television, not movies or video games, but real live people moving around, doing real live things, filmed by real, live cameras, transmitted through the air, through those metal satellites still mindlessly orbiting their planet, back into their small, flat, wide-screen TV's.

It was strange to think about sometimes, Judith thought - the kinds of things people used to do before how things were now. Sometimes she'd flip through old magazines to try and understand. Articles talking about the kinds of clothes people were wearing. The newest television show. The "juiciest gossip." Divorce and scandals and _breast implants_. (Another new one. Define: breast implant. Noun. A prosthesis consisting of a gel-like or fluid material in a flexible sac, implanted behind or in place of a female breast in reconstructive or cosmetic surgery.)

"But they're just people!" Judith would exclaim, looking for explanation from her father. "Who gives a shit?"

He would sigh, pinching the skin between his eyes. A practice he perfected when he was trying to be patient with her. Rick Grimes had never been prepared for a daughter. "I know. But they were celebrities."

Celebrities. She'd had to look up what that was too. (Define: celebrity. Noun. The state of being well known.) Celebrities weren't a thing. It wasn't even a word they'd learned in school.

School was also different, Carl liked to point out. He'd been fifteen when she was born, twelve when the whole thing started, so he remembered a lot. When Carl was in school they would do arts and crafts and take standardized tests and eat lunch in a place called the "cafeteria" ("It was just a room to eat!?" Judith would exclaim and Carl would nod,) their soggy lunch scooped into a tray by someone called "the lunch lady."

Judith liked _her_ school - the school she was familiar with. On Mondays and Tuesdays, Mr. Porter, who they called Eugene outside of school, taught them things like how to read and write and science, geography and math. On Wednesdays, Ms. Chambler, or Tara, taught them healing remedies, stitching techniques and things to look for when they were finally allowed out on runs - seventeen and older, no exceptions.

On Thursdays and Fridays, Daryl and Michonne (not to go by any other names, ever,) taught them shooting, archery, knife handling and other basic survival skills. Those were Judith's favorite days. Michonne and Daryl would tell her she was the best in the class, even though she thought maybe they had to say those things to her. They _were_ practically family.

"You're lucky," Carl would say, sticking his nose in the air. He was a proud thirty-two now, and though Judith was seventeen and had learned a lot, she still looked up to him, hanging on his every word. "Didn't have this kind of training when I was your age. Had to learn it all on my own."

He was tough, her brother. He'd lost an eye at an early age, when she was just an infant, so his stare was always unsettling when he really meant something he was saying. It bore into you, that single blue iris under a narrowed lid. He wore a patch most days when he was out in town, but at home he took it off. "It's so fucking _itchy_ ," he would complain. As a child, the _hole_ , the hollowness and the blackness of it never sat right with Judith. Make her stomach turn over, like she'd be sick. It was something she just couldn't help. She would stare at him and he would taunt her with it. Eventually, she just got used to it.

She loved Carl, but she hated how he reprimanded her, like somehow it was her fault that he'd been born in such an unfortunate time. It wasn't her fault everything had gone to shit while he was in the middle of growing up. That he had to shoot their mother in the face. And he knew that, but he still liked to remind her how much _easier_ she had it any chance he got.

His hair was as long as hers and he kept it tied back behind his head most days. ( _A man bun_ , the magazines called it. Define: bun. Noun. A hairstyle in which the hair is drawn back into a tight coil at the back of the head.) He'd grown from a gangly boy into a strong man with a long beard and she'd grown from a skinny baby into a skinny kid into a skinny teenager. She had thick brown hair, frizzy and untamable, that she kept swept back in a ponytail. Out of her face. Out of the way. She was strong, but still lanky - like her limbs were growing so fast that the rest of her body couldn't keep up

Seventeen now, and everyone told her she looked like her Mom, but Judith wasn't convinced. Her mother had been beautiful and Judith was hard-looking, no doubt the effect of the world around her. Her mother's name was Lori, with an "ORI," not an "AURIE," Carl had told her when she first learned to spell. And Judith was the reason she'd died.

Judith was one of the lucky ones - thats what they all said. Most of the kids were orphans, with one or no parents or siblings to call their own blood. Judith Grimes still had a brother and a father, and Michonne, who was as good as blood, as good as any mother would be - and life didn't get much better than that.

Her father, Rick, had been in charge of Alexandria for some time, although many would argue that Michonne and Daryl had single-handedly held this place together. Judith was somewhat of a _celebrity_ , she supposed if they were using the word in context. People always liked to know what she was doing, what her family was doing, what her role would be in the community now that she was "of age."

Seventeen. That magical age of adulthood for the Alexandrian kids. Judith had been both terrified and thrilled for the day to come. She could finally put to practice all she'd learned. She could finally go on runs. She could finally be a member of the community. She'd excelled at school. Maybe she could shadow Daryl. What she hadn't expected was what else seemed to be expected of her.

There had been twenty pregnancies since Judith was old enough to remember. Two of the mothers had died in childbirth. Postpartum hemorrhages, Tara had identified. (Define: hemorrhage. Noun. An escape of blood from a ruptured blood vessel, especially when profuse.) The first time, Tara had run from the clinic, sobbing. Covered in blood. Carrying the baby. Screaming. The second time, no screaming, but she _had_ drank a lot of alcohol that night, straight into morning and gotten very drunk, vomiting bile into the street. Since then, Tara had gotten better, but still didn't handle crisis very well.

Fourteen of the babies had survived past infancy. Some were stillborn. Some got sick. It was just the way the world worked now. The ones that survived were tough. The kids were all tough, like Judith. But she was the toughest of them all. (Or so she liked to think.) She wasn't sure many of them were fond of her. In fact, Judith knew many of them weren't fond of her. She didn't have many friends. Only acquaintances. She liked the _adults_ better. And now she was one.

There were only four girls "to be of age," her Dad was saying. "Babies are important."

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Dad," Judith said firmly.

Rick and Michonne sat side by side on the couch, staring at her. "It's pertinent to our survival," her father said smartly. "Just something to think about. For your _future_. There's plenty of nice gentlemen in our community."

Judith rolled her eyes, landing them on Michonne who gave her a small grin. They'd had this talk already. "The birds and the bees," Michonne called it with a nervous laugh, whistling through her teeth.

"It's called _fucking_ ," Carl would tell her later, crudely. "And you better hope you don't get pregnant."

Carl had told her one night after he'd had too many beers that Eugene and Abraham had brewed themselves, exactly how their mother had died. On a cold, hard floor. She'd been spliced open with a knife, like a fucking animal, and _Maggie_ had pulled her from the carnage. Bloody and beautiful, screaming, pink and healthy. The cord was cut and in that moment, Judith was separated from her dead mother's corpse. Alive.

And after that, Judith planned on never getting pregnant and never having kids.

"I just want you to find someone who will take care of you Judith," her father said in his most honest tone, "I won't be around forever."

 _I fucking know that_ , she wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, in her most teenage way, she stormed up to her room angrily, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

The moon was full.

High in the sky, the orb hung over their pathetic little planet, illuminating the ground brightly. Street. Houses. Old street lights that no longer worked (a waste of electricity.) Judith much preferred the night. You could slip out, unnoticed, so easily. The darkness was a blanket.

The fence around Alexandria was sturdy, but not safe. Nothing was safe, really. But it was safe enough, built up over the years, optimized for the world they lived in. For attack. For the walkers. But there were still ways out - Uncle Daryl had showed her years ago, "Just in case of an emergency," he'd drawled and she'd nodded in an understanding response. "If you ever need to get out."

He'd made her promise not to use the exits he'd showed her, but she was seventeen now. An adult. If she was to be expected to contribute her uterus to society like her father had requested, she sure as hell had the right to leave Alexandria whenever she damn well pleased.

So that night, she took the hunters knife Uncle Daryl had given her a few years back, and turned it over in her hands. "She'd want you to have this," was what he had said. And when Judith asked " _Who_?", he'd shaken his head sadly and left her alone. It was the last time she'd asked. She knew it had belonged to someone he had lost - maybe someone they had all lost. But he wouldn't say. She could see from his face, that it hurt him too much.

The weapon was made from a light, stainless steel - easily pocketable. So when she climbed out of her bedroom window, onto the black tar roof of their house and eased herself down the gutter that barely clung to the siding of the house, she kept the knife in her hands. She jumped off towards the ground, a little too far up, landing solidly on her feet - the sting rising from her soles all the way to her calves. She ignored it, determined to move on. To get out. To see something beyond the walls.

* * *

Hershel Greene-Rhee was the only half-Asian he knew. The Hilltop was full of all kinds of people, but none of them looked like him.

Once, when he was in school, one of the kids had told him "his kind" had died off, because they were "a bunch of pussies." Then they'd pulled the skin next to their eyes taut, a crude representation of what Hershel looked like and laughed horribly at him.

When he told his mother, who led the Hilltop, she screwed her face up in an angry sort of snarl and stormed out the front door and Hershel wasn't allowed back to school for an entire week.

"Those little fuckers," his mother said later over dinner, "Don't know who your Daddy was. And if they did, they'd shut their little fuckin' mouths."

Maggie Greene was tall, strong and beautiful and also a little sad at times, despite her best intentions to hide it. Hershel Greene-Rhee was a spitting image of his father, or so he'd been told. Momma had no photos of her late husband, so he could only take her word for it.

"He was brave," Momma would say, looking off, dreamily, in the distance. It was his favorite thing, when Momma would talk about his father, like he was the greatest person she'd ever encountered. "He was thoughtful and brave and loyal and wonderful." And then she looked at him. "And so are you."

Hershel wasn't sure how true that all was. He didn't think he was very thoughtful or wonderful and he certainly wasn't brave and he wasn't quite sure what loyal even meant, so he couldn't be that. But he was one thing now - an adult. Sixteen, and at the Hilltop, sixteen was the age you needed to be to go out beyond the walls.

They'd prepared the kids for such an experience - weapon training, survival skills, how to kill the walkers. They had cars and ammo and medicine. Camping gear. Warm blankets. Bottles of water for their journeys, but he didn't _really_ know what it was like. He'd grown up behind walls. Out there, everything was unknown.

His mother hadn't offered up much information. Just that it was dangerous and dismal and scary - nothing like The Hilltop. He wouldn't want to go out there anyway, unless he absolutely _had_ to. Here, they were safe and fed and warm and went to sleep in a bed, and woke up alive. His Momma never talked of what life had been like before she'd ended up here, though Hershel had heard bits and pieces from others. He never asked, because he knew his mother would never tell him. It was left up to his imagination.

And that, in itself, was quite dangerous - though Hershel didn't realize it at this point in his life - how dangerous his imagination could be. He envisioned the outside to be quiet. Secluded. Somewhere where he could be alone with only his own thoughts - not like here, where he was constantly surrounded by people.

"We're thrivin'," Maggie would say. "You should be lucky there's so many people around. There was a time when there was nobody. No one. Just the dead, walking."

But he hated it, the constant chatter. The shuffling feet. The moving bodies. There were _so many_ people. Sure, he was lucky enough to have a room. He could hide if he needed to - but he could always hear _someone_ , even if he closed the door.

Today was his birthday and Momma had baked him a cake. He smiled at her as she made him blow out a candle - an old tradition, long since forgotten. Birthdays and celebrations had been long since forgotten too, Maggie always made a point to celebrate him. A single candle in the middle of a small cake, cut into small slivers to eat. Afterwards, he'd been allowed an extra hour of electricity to watch a movie and then, Hershel went upstairs to bed, laying in the darkness, staring up at his low ceiling. His mothers snores echoed down the hall, but Hershel stayed awake.

He wasn't sure why, but he could never sleep on his birthday. Rationale told him it was the excitement of making it to a new year, but Hershel thought it might have been something else. The anticipation of making it to adulthood. And now, finally to _sixteen_.

According to Momma and the rest of the Hilltop, Hershel was a real adult. He could make decisions and get a job to help contribute to their _thriving_ society and he could finally get out to see the world with nobody stopping him. But, he didn't feel any different. He didn't know anything different. He wasn't more enlightened or more brave or anything. He still didn't know what was beyond the walls.

An overwhelming wave of frustration. Of embarrassment. Of feeling like this whole _being sixteen_ thing didn't really matter. He didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted to find out what was out there, on his own terms. He wanted a story. He wanted to be brave.

With the moon full and bright in the sky, Hershel slipped out of the front door, past the gates and into the woods, with only a pocket knife in his hands. Away. It was time to explore.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Woods

**Forbidden**

Chapter 2 - The Woods

 _ **A/N:** Hi all! Thanks to all who are reading/favoriting/following/reviewing! This is sort of an experiment for me - I wanted to do a little character development and exploration in my writing (it's something I need to work on) and so we'll see what happens with this fic. I have a rough outline for where this will go, so I hope you all enjoy seeing what life might be like sixteen years in the future in the TWD world! Thanks for reading and please review if you like it or hate it or feel mediocre about it, I welcome all feedback!_

 _Also, I had a question if Glenn is the only deceased cast member in this fic, and the answer is yes, the rest of Team Family will be making an appearance or mentioned at some point, even if they do not live in Alexandria/The Hilltop/surrounding areas._

* * *

Hershel hadn't been prepared for the darkness.

The air was thick and humid, causing pools of sweat to form down the back of his neck and under his arms and he was straining his eyes to see in the darkness. The land outside the Hilltop was vast and wooded, trees and shadows playing tricks on him as he traveled onwards. He was careful to go in only one direction, so he'd know how to get back.

He was starting to feel scared. Terrified, actually. Overwhelmingly so, like he almost couldn't breathe, even though the air was cool and fresh going into his lungs. The initial thrill of getting past the walls was gone. He'd known kids from school who had taken journeys outside - they'd boast about killing a walker or two, sinking their knives deep into the monster's skull and watching the decaying body crumble to the floor. Hershel had never come close to killing a walker, let alone even seeing a real one. How embarrassing.

They'd practiced in school - how to properly kill a walker, but it always seemed juvenile. Plunging a knife into a piece of tree bark didn't seem at all similar to what killing a walker might be like. Not that Hershel really knew, but he wasn't completely ignorant.

Maggie had been so protective over her only son, after losing her husband. She was afraid. Afraid of losing him. Afraid of letting him see too much. And in turn, maybe she hadn't noticed, but she was afraid of letting him be brave. He was sheltered. Naive. He got picked on a lot, the son of the leader of the Hilltop didn't help his case much. _Goody-two shoes._ He got that one a lot. Always obeying the rules. Always following directions. Even tonight, he wasn't _technically_ breaking the rules. He was now, sixteen. To the day.

As Hershel came to understand other kids and other families, he knew not everyone necessarily obeyed the rule of not going beyond the walls before sixteen. Sometimes he wondered if Momma knew too, but just ignored it. Like she'd made that rule _specifically_ for him. Others trained their kids not to be afraid of what was outside. To not be afraid of the walkers - of killing, of surviving outside their community. But Maggie never budged. And Hershel had to know. Tonight.

He had reached a clearing in the trees. Breathing heavily, he brushed his hair away from his face, staring into an open field where there was a small, boarded up shed. Beyond that, a larger structure which may have once been a barn, but it had caught fire at some point and half of it had turned to ash that blended into the darkness of the grass in the distance.

The shed couldn't have been any bigger than his bedroom and it sparked his curiosity to see what was inside of it. His adrenaline was starting to pump again. A discovery! And how dangerous could it be, really? He was close enough to the Hilltop that someone must have cleared the structure. So, with new found confidence, he sprinted towards it, letting his hands touch the wood that smelled of mold.

The moon was still overhead and suddenly the world felt brighter without the trees around him. He felt exposed, almost naked. But he was out here to _feel_ something. To find something. To explore - to tell a story, to do _something_ , that he ignored the uncomfortableness and instead fumbled for the door to the shed.

He was so concerned about getting it open that he ignored the low growl that came from inside as he tugged it open. He flung it to the side, pride swelling in his chest. There was a dark entrance. So dark he couldn't make out anything even when he strained his eyes. But the _smell_. Ugh. The rotten smell overwhelmed him so that he needed to cough and gag for a minute until he could gasp a breath of the night air. And then something came out towards him.

It happened so quickly that he forgot what he'd learned in school. He'd forgotten where he put his pocket knife. He'd forgotten not to scream.

The body that had tackled him was barely a body - merely bones and a layer of skin and muscle that held on loosely. Like a jacket, he thought. Its teeth were still in tact, clenching, biting on air, a few inches away from his face, releasing a putrid, decaying scent that made him want to hurl.

He was screaming, even though his brain was telling him to stop making noise. "Making noise attracts other walkers," he heard his teacher telling the class as they practiced stabbing dull tree bark. "If you are attacked, it's best to keep quiet and take care of things silently." Hershel remembered wondering if his teacher had ever even been attacked by a walker.

Hershel fought like hell, throwing the body off, but the monster was relentless after not having fed for quite some time, bony fingers grabbing at him wildly. He felt like he was going to die and how disappointed his mother would be that the first and only time he'd ever snuck out he had been attacked and eaten and _how many times_ had she told him to stay put. Be patient. It's bad out there. It's dangerous.

And now? Now she would be all alone with only a sad memory of her pathetic son. And that was really the worst part of all.

But then, before he could really get a grasp on his ultimate demise, the walker's movements stopped and he heard a _shunk_ sound and when he looked up at the corpse's head (eyes still open), there was a hunting knife sticking out from the cracked cranium and a girl looking down at him with a satisfied smirk on her face.

* * *

Judith saw him from the trees. She'd always been a climber and thought she could get a good view of what _used_ to be a farm from a bit higher in a tree. She'd never been out this far. She almost thought, maybe for a minute, she'd gone too far. Movement in the distance startled her heart and she stilled, clinging to the branch above her and squinted into the distance.

It wasn't a walker, it was a person - that was evident immediately as they sprinted across the open field in the moonlight. _Idiot_ , Judith thought, mortified by how exposed they were. It couldn't have been someone from Alexandria, because they were coming from the wrong direction. She didn't know how long she'd been walking, only that she'd probably covered a few miles by now, and she didn't really know of any communities that were this close, so it was odd to see another living body.

The person had reached the shed, far in the distance and was tugging on the door, finally flinging it open. _What are they doing?_

And then, she thought her heart might actually stop completely, as a walker stumbled out, falling on top of the person she'd been watching and they disappeared in the grass.

The knife was still in her hands when she jumped, and she ran without thinking, in the direction of the shed. He had started screaming and she wanted to yell, _SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP_ , but didn't want to bring more attention to herself. She was upon the person rather quickly, and like a reflex she sunk the knife into the walkers head. The movements ceased immediately, like she'd pressed the pause button on the TV remote.

She kicked the body off easily, revealing a teenage boy - young looking, but still somewhat handsome with almond eyes and dark hair, the color almost completely drained from his face. She looked back at the corpse she'd just killed, and pulled her knife straight from the skull, letting the body collapse to the side. She wiped the blade against her pant leg, then looked back at the person still lying on the ground, taking deep gulps of air, looking like he might vomit, or cry.

"You gonna puke?" she asked.

He shook his head wildly.

"Good," she said with a nod, then she squatted, taking him in with her eyes and asked, "Are you fuckin' stupid?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, angrily, and sat up, getting to his knees and then to his feet, so she stood up with him, to face him. He was the same size as her, which was saying a lot, because Judith was the tallest girl in her age group. He crossed his arms defensively. "I'm not stupid."

"Sure look it," Judith replied, looking towards the shed. "What's in here anyway?"

The boy looked towards the shed and shrugged sheepishly. "Dunno," was his answer.

Judith raised an eyebrow at him. "Damn well got yourself killed out here and you don't even know what's in the shed?" she asked.

He didn't answer her, just stepped towards the small structure and she watched him disappear. She considered walking away, back to the trees, so she wasn't so exposed. Judith had no idea who this guy was - not that she thought he would hurt her, but stupidity could be just as dangerous as strength, especially out here.

But, against her better judgement, she sighed heavily and entered the shed behind him, pulling the door closed, just in case something (or someone - there was always that chance too) decided to come by. The shed was empty and smelled of death. Someone had boarded up the windows, but moonlight still shone through the cracks and she saw him, huddled in the corner, sitting on the floor, turning a pocket knife over in his hands.

She snorted. "Is that what you were gonna kill walkers with?"

He looked up at her, shoving the pocket knife back into his pants. "No," he said, but she could see the pink tinge on his cheeks even in the dark.

"Where's your knife then?" she pried. She heard the obnoxious tone she gave off, but couldn't help it.

He rolled his eyes then and sighed heavily. "That was it," he admitted.

She felt smug. "Whatta doin' out here? Tryin' to get yourself killed?" Judith asked, trying harder not to sound too judgmental.

He shrugged.

"You lookin' for somethin'? For someone?" she asked, finding it hard to think that he would be all alone out here.

He shrugged again.

"Do you talk?" she asked.

He looked up at her, meeting her gaze. He looked sad and defeated, his face still covered in a little bit of the gore that had come off the walker when she'd killed it. "Yeah," he said, his voice shaking. He was pretty shaken up, and part of her felt bad for him. She wasn't sure where that came from.

So she tried again. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Hershel," he mumbled.

"Hershel?" Judith laughed. "What are you eighty-five?"

"It was my grandfather's name."

Judith gave a soft, " _oh_ ," thinking she may have heard that name before, but she'd forgotten from where. It made her think of an old man.

"You got a nickname?" Judith asked, unconvinced he went around being called Hershel.

He shook his head.

"A last name?" she asked again, sitting down on the floor of the shed herself, opposite from where he sat. She brought her knees up, spread apart, leaning her arms over them.

"Greene-Rhee," he muttered.

Judith nodded, taking her hunting knife and playing with the blade in the dirt beside her. "I'm gonna call you Rhee," she decided. "I like it better."

He shrugged again. Didn't care.

"I'm Judith, by the way," she said informatively. "I'm from Alexandria."

He didn't respond to that at all.

"You're awfully quiet," she commented. "Where're you from?"

The silence was deafening. Judith didn't deal with silence very well, but she let him have it for a minute. "The Hilltop," he finally answered. "I'm sixteen today."

Then, she understood. This was his first time beyond the walls. "Your first time outside alone?" she asked, knowingly.

He nodded slightly. "It's my first time outside, ever," he responded.

She heard him, but needed to process the words. "Ever?" she asked, surprised. "You've never been outside your walls?"

Rhee shook his head. "Never."

"Well, this is a hell of a way to celebrate your birthday. Didn't they teach you to stay hidden where you come from? To stab the walkers in the head with a real knife?" She brought her pointer finger up to jab it into her forehead.

"They did," Rhee responded.

"Didn't look like you had much trainin'," Judith observed. She tried to catch his eye, but he wasn't having it. "Don't you know how to fight?"

He shook his head slightly. "Not really," he responded. "Never killed a walker before."

"Never killed a walker?" Judith blew a breath of air up over her top lip in surprise. Carl and Uncle Daryl had taken her out at the ripe age of ten and many times after that, just to show her what the walkers looked like and how to properly kill them. When she was fourteen she'd killed her first walker with her bare hands. Covered in gore, she looked up at her brother, feeling a little crazed and he grinned at her proudly. She hadn't been allowed out on runs or anything, but at least she knew what was out here. At least she knew how to survive. To kill.

"Nope," he said, a little more forcefully this time. "Never been allowed out."

"You'd never be able to survive out here," Judith said, puffing out her chest proudly. "I know how to shoot all kinds of weapons and how to use all kinds of knives."

"Why are you still here?" he asked her, sounding annoyed, looking up at her sharply. She was taken aback for a minute. This kid didn't seem like he had any fight left in him, so she had to admit, it stung that he wasn't at least a _little_ impressed.

"Hey, I saved your life," she shot back. "Shouldn't you be thankin' me?"

He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully before finally saying, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Judith said with a nod of the head.

She sat there with him for a while, neither of them saying much. She looked up at him in between drawing designs in the dirt with the tip of her knife, but he was still and sad looking, sitting crosslegged on the dirty floor.

She knew she should head back and go home - Michonne would be up at dawn and she needed to get back before light, but she didn't want to move. It was rare to see and meet a new person her age. And she fucking hated everyone her age in Alexandria.

Hershel. _Rhee_ , didn't seem much better though. It wasn't like he was talking to her. It wasn't like he was all that interesting. Shit, the guy hadn't even ever killed a walker. He had no idea what he was doing, and she didn't know why she was sticking around for so long. _Fuck it_. She made up her mind and stood up quickly. "Good luck gettin' home." Too mean? And then, "Bye Rhee," she said.

He, of course, didn't answer (and she hadn't really expected him to) so she took off quickly back towards Alexandria.

* * *

The sun was almost up and Judith was still a good mile away from home, so she ran, her boots pounding against the pavement, pain rising in her lungs from not being able to get air in fast enough.

When she'd finally slipped back through the sewer tunnel and climbed back up the grate and onto the street, she was covered in sweat, smelling like the outside with a sprinkle of guts and sewer water mixed in. Great. She'd have to slip inside the house and into the shower unnoticed now. She could kick herself for staying in that shack with Rhee for so long.

 _Rhee_. She chuckled at the nickname she'd come up with. What a fucking odd character. Judith didn't know anyone outside of Alexandria. She knew _of_ other communities, the Hilltop being one of them. Her dad and Michonne and Uncle Daryl traveled there a few times a year, but she hadn't really met anyone from there. She hadn't had a reason to. Everyone seemed perfectly content to stay inside Alexandria and be with people from Alexandria and that was that.

The house where they lived was pretty ordinary, she thought, but there was only one door that led in and out and she couldn't climb back up the gutter to her bedroom window, only down. Hoping for the best, her heart pounding loudly, she pushed in the front door and closed it gently behind her, wincing at the slight sound it made as it clicked closed.

She let out a breath then, hearing nothing but silence and walked in. Her shoes squelched from the sewer water. It sounded louder than she thought it actually was. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the bottom step of the stairs that led upstairs. But before she could ascend, she felt a presence beside her. Ugh. Busted.

"Hi." It was Michonne.

Judith closed her eyes, then opened one to look at her apprehensively.

"Where have you been?" Michonne asked.

Judith crossed her arms. "I went for a walk."

"Rather early for a walk, no?" Michonne cocked an eyebrow.

Judith shrugged and sighed at the same time. "Just want to get my cardio in while it's still quiet outside."

"Where were you Judith?" Michonne said, seriously this time and Judith turned to face her. Michonne's face was somber and although she wasn't frowning, her eyes were disappointed. She hated that look.

Judith didn't answer her. She was racking her brain for an excuse.

"Daryl's takin' all of the seventeen-year-olds outside the walls today," Michonne said, irritation in her voice. "Would be a shame if you missed it."

"I went out," Judith said, staring up the stairs.

"Where?" Michonne asked immediately.

"Into the woods," Judith shrugged. She looked back at Michonne and pulled the hunting knife she carried out of her pocket. "I had a knife with me." She left out the part about killing a walker and saving someone's life.

Michonne gave a heavy sigh, then placed her arm on Judith's shoulder. It was a motherly thing to do, and though Judith didn't say it, she always appreciated affection from her. It was different than the affection from her father, or her brother. "I know you're eager to go on runs and explore, but you need to be _careful_ ," she stressed. "Those rules are in place for a reason. We don't want anything to happen to you. Going out at night, in the dark - it's dangerous."

Judith nodded, feeling extremely guilty. "Sorry," she said.

"I know you're mad at your Dad, but…he only wants the best for you."

"Okay," Judith said, looking at her feet.

And that was as far as Michonne pushed things. She'd raised Judith since she was a baby with her father, but she never overstepped that "Mom" role. It was something she really valued about their relationship.

"Daryl's leaving in about an hour," Michonne called after her as Judith climbed the stairs. It was a peace offering, so Judith stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Mich," she said softly, and continued up to the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

Uncle Daryl was giving them a tracking lesson and Judith trailed behind the four others in front of her, picking up words here and there. Daryl had taught her how to track ages ago, so this was just a refresher for her - but there was no way she was going to miss going out beyond the walls. She loved being in the woods, in nature, out where things weren't so _normal_. The same was not always to be said about the rest of the kids her age.

Camila Espinosa and her twin sister Valeria trailed on Daryl's heels, hanging on his every word. Daryl was in his fifties, but Judith still saw how girls her age lusted after him. It was so fucking weird to her. Behind them was Dean Ford, his sleeveless shirt way too tight over his hairy back, and his ass was sweating so bad she could see the sweat stain through his shorts.

Finally, Daryl paused for lunch - rice, a melody of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and red peppers and water. They sat in a circle, their backs to each others, looking outwards - a practice taught to them by Daryl and Michonne. Always be on the lookout.

"Anyone have any questions?" Daryl grumbled, in between bites of food.

"What animals make the bounder pattern with their tracks again?" Valeria asked, her voice high as she batted her eyelashes at Daryl.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Judith beat him to it. "Weasels, ferrets - badgers," Judith said with a mouthful of food. Valeria whipped her head around to stared at Judith angrily, her eyelids black with eyeliner. "Right Daryl?" Judith shifted her gaze to him.

Daryl nodded. "That's right," he drawled and Judith smirked at Valeria who had crossed her arms in defiance.

"Daryl," Judith asked hesitantly, "How far is the Hilltop from here?"

His eyes widened at her question and he stared at her curiously. "Why're you askin'?"

"Don't we trade with them?" Judith said casually. "Just curious is all - now that we're gonna be goin' on runs and all."

Daryl shrugged. "Thirty minute drive, maybe?" he answered.

"Do we know a lot about them? Are there a lot of kids there?" she pressed on and Daryl raised an eyebrow then, brushing some of his long hair away from his eyes to look at her.

"I guess. I don't really know." He looked back towards his lunch then. "Alright, let's get movin' again," he growled suddenly, packing up his lunch and getting to his feet. Judith could sense he wasn't thrilled with her questions, but she wasn't sure why. They had been innocent enough. He couldn't be mad at her for being curious, could he?

The day wore on and before she knew it, it was time to go back to Alexandria. They walked back as a group, Daryl letting Dean lead the way, so he could fall back in line with Judith (to Valeria's dismay as she looked at him longingly over her shoulder.)

"Wanna tell me what's got you so interested in the Hilltop?" Daryl asked.

"Nope," Judith said firmly.

Daryl grunted, letting out a low laugh. "You know, your dad wouldn't be thrilled with you askin' all these questions," he said. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Aw shit, Uncle Daryl, you can't just say that and expect me not ask _why_ ," Judith teased.

"He's not a big fan of the person who leads that area. And that's all I'm sayin'," Daryl said with a nod. "You want answers, you gotta talk to him."

Judith groaned. "Come on. I thought you were a cool uncle."

"I am a fucking cool uncle, ass-kicker. But I'm not about to get on your Dad's bad side, okay?"

"Fine," Judith breathed. "I'll just have to ask him myself."

"That's right," Daryl responded with a slight smile. "Now c'mon. Let's get the rest of these lame teenagers home." He whispered the last part and Judith laughed after him.


	3. Chapter 3 - Training

**Forbidden**

Chapter 3 - Training

 _ **A/N:** Hi! I re-wrote a few of the earlier chapters with some extra details, but nothing too drastic (i.e. this chapter will still make sense even if you don't go back and read.) Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Please review! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Dumbass. Stupid fucking dumbass.

He was alone now, the darkness overwhelming, surrounding him, eating at him and he was so, fucking, stupid. All the trees looked the same. Tall and black, disappearing in the sky. Branches, leaves, moss. It all looked identical. He should have left a trail. He should have thought ahead.

Keep moving. He had to keep moving. He came from this way. _Didn't he?_ His senses were on fire. Mind playing tricks on him. Calves burning, the pain shooting up into his thighs, right up into his ass. How far had he walked? Was he even moving in the right direction?

He almost dropped to his knees when he saw the man-made, large wooden walls in the distance. No idea how he made it, but he didn't fucking care anymore. He ran, though his limbs were screaming at him not to. Muscles cramping, tightening - he'd regret that in a few hours, but he didn't care. He scrambled inside, back to the house, through the door and up the stairs.

Momma was still sleeping. He could hear her. Sometimes she was quiet. Sometimes she snored. A lot of the times she cried out or talked, but he never mentioned it to her and neither did the others. Sometimes it was Daddy. Sometimes it was Aunt Beth. Sometimes other people whose names Hershel didn't recognize, but he didn't want to talk about it. He knew she didn't want to talk about it either.

He slipped from his clothes and stuffed them into the bowels of his dark closet. He'd need to deal with them later. They smelled like death and had old blood and remnants of guts on them from _Judith_. He couldn't wash them - Momma would know. So, he wiped the remnants of that dead corpse from his face and climbed, shivering, into his bed in only his ratty white underwear.

Darkness enveloped him as he closed his eyes and he dreamt of her, Judith. Long, frizzy hair. Eyes, piercing blue. The shack. The walker - smelling and rotting. _Are you fuckin' stupid?_ Yes! He shouted it at her. He was stupid. He was naive and dumb and didn't know what he was doing and she had saved him and he barely even thanked her.

The dream shifted. They were in a field. It was bright. Flowers. Safety. She laid next to him, their shoulders touching and she smiled. A nice smile that changed her face. The sky was blue and cloudless. She was touching him, fingers trailing down his arm, lightly, little scratches. He could _feel_ her. He craved her in a way he didn't yet understand, and then - she was gone.

Morning came.

Momma called for him and he dressed, washed in the bathroom, scrubbed his skin extra hard until it turned raw. Then, he climbed down the stairs, into their small kitchen. Momma was there, alone, which was odd. They lived with others, who helped Maggie run the Hilltop and they were usually there too, but today it was just Momma and it made his heart stop in his chest.

"Hershel?" she said his name sternly. She was turned away from him, at the stove, cooking eggs. _She knew._ Carefully, he climbed into one of the stools at the counter. It was set with a plate and a fork.

 _"_ Momma, I—," he stopped. _You what?_ What was he going to say?

"You're going out today." She turned, sharply, dumping fried eggs onto a plate in front of him. They were steaming, the warmth reaching his eyes and he had to blink before he caught his mother's glance.

"What?"

"Arnold's takin' you out today." His teacher. He tried to read her face. She looked upset, and he felt guilty. Had he just waited _one more night_ he wouldn't have had to lie to her. He wouldn't have had to hide his clothes, stinking of death. He wouldn't have felt so shitty right now.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

She threw the pan into the sink with a _clang_. It hit the side, then settled at the bottom. She came back to the counter, placing her palms flat on the surface and leaned against it forcefully, looking down. "I knew you'd be going out Hersh," she said, a nickname that made him feel small. Judith popped into his mind again. _I'm gonna call you Rhee_. "Just didn't think it would be this soon."

"It'll be okay."

She rocked against the counter, then looked up at him. "I didn't prepare you," she said softly. "I didn't teach you enough, I didn't prepare you. I hid you away like this day would never come." She took a sharp breath. "I should have prepared you."

Well, he hadn't expected that. "Arnold knows what he's doin' Ma," Hershel said confidently. "He'll teach me what I need to know."

"I know that," Maggie hissed at him. "Wouldn't have him take you if he didn't." She sighed. "It's getting cold. Winter's here. He wants to go before things get frigid and," she turned away from him then, "he's right." She reached the sink and was drumming her fingers against the rim. "I just didn't think it would all happen so fast."

"I'll be okay Ma," Hershel tried to reassure her.

She turned again, crossing her arms. "I know you will," she breathed. "My strong, sweet boy. I know I have to let you go." She squeezed her eyes shut, causing the skin around them to crinkle and Hershel was surprised to see tears roll from the sides.

"Momma," he said softly.

"Eat your eggs," she said, wiping them away with her fist. "Before they get cold."

So he picked up his fork and ate.

* * *

Arnold gave Hershel a hand gun, a knife and a backpack full of supplies. He felt heavy. Loaded. Weak.

They walked towards the main wall together. Arnold was a big man, white blonde hair and hard features that made him look like he wore a constant scowl.

As they passed the wall, Arnold waved a hello to Eduardo, the guard, just about to be finished with his shift. Hershel had slipped past him easily last night and he knew it was because he'd been drinking or screwing around with the other guards. None of them cared too much about anyone going _out_. More concerned about anything coming in.

Hershel had always expected to _feel_ something in this moment. He'd dreamt about it for long enough. He'd sure felt a lot of shit last night. Fear. Anxiety. Thrill. Shame. Guilt. But as Arnold closed the door behind him, Hershel felt a whole lot of nothing.

"You been out here before?" Arnold asked him. He was studying his face.

Hershel shook his head.

"I ain't gonna tell your Mom. Just curious how much you still need to learn is all." He winked at him. "I hear the kids talk."

"I guess once," Hershel admitted. _Last night. Almost died._

Arnold nodded. No reaction. He wondered if he really wasn't going to tell his mother. "Any run-ins with the dead?" he asked. Casual.

"One," Hershel replied. They were walking full speed now, through the trees. Hershel hung back a little, so he couldn't see Arnold's face.

"And you're still breathin'." It was a statement.

"Yeah," Hershel said.

Arnold turned sharply to the right. Hershel wondered where they were going. "You kill it, or run?"

He debated this one for a minute. Wrong answer could tip him off, and he couldn't tell Arnold about Judith. "Someone else killed it." Simple enough.

"Well, we're gonna practice killin' a few, so you get used to it. Next week, we'll take one of the trucks out for a spin. Gotta teach you how to drive if you're gonna be going out on runs." He took another turn. "Have you started to think about what kind of job you'd want at the Hilltop?"

That was the other part of turning sixteen. And Hershel _had_ thought about it. At sixteen he was done with school and he'd need to do something to contribute. All the men went on runs, that was just part of life. But a job on the inside was important. It made him feel needed. Like he wasn't just another part of his mother.

"I was thinkin' about farming," Hershel panted. Arnold was moving quicker now and he was struggling to keep up with him.

"That's a good one," Arnold commented. "Stand up job. We always need more farmers."

"How'd you get to be a teacher?" Hershel asked curiously. They turned again. He was lost. There was no way he could find his way back now.

"It was something I did, before all of this." _Before_. The concept was always odd to Hershel. He knew of nothing else. "I was a high school history teacher," he said. "I loved it."

"History?" Hershel asked. He knew of the word, but it wasn't something they studied at school.

Arnold nodded, turning again. "About the country. The world. Leaders. One day we'll bring it back into school, but for now - there's more important things for you kids to learn." He stopped then, putting a hand out to stop Hershel behind him. "Here."

Hershel peered out from behind Arnold. There was a walker in between the trees. It was once a woman. Maybe. The only thing that indicated the sex was long hair - stringy, dirty and greasy. It was faced away from them, tied up to a tree. Thick rope around the middle, digging into gray skin, creating thick abrasions from when the creature thrashed that revealed wet, black undertones that was once red when the monster had been alive.

Arnold started forward, branches breaking beneath his strong boots and Hershel followed. The walker heard, turning towards them, racing frantically, eyes wild and teeth gnashing in loud _click click click_ sounds. Hungry. It snarled as the rope ceased its movement. It jerked backwards. Surprised.

Hershel was sweating.

"Got your knife?" Arnold asked him, and Hershel fumbled for it in his boot.

"Keep it in your hands out here if you can," he instructed him. "Never know when you'll get snuck up on."

Hershel nodded, trying to keep his breath steady.

"Remember the stabbing technique we learned?" Arnold asked then.

 _Into a piece of bark?_ Hershel wanted to ask. 'Yes," he answered instead.

"Right into the brain," Arnold was saying, pointing to the walker's very solid cranium. This was nothing like class. This was nothing like tree bark. This thing kept moving and trying to bite him and it smelled like a rotting animal, like the time a few of the calves had died after getting sick and stunk up the whole community for what felt like weeks. This thing had eyes and made sounds and was actually, really fucking terrifying.

Hershel lifted his hand, his knife steady. Ready to stab. Ready to attack.

"Grab the head. Keep it steady." Arnold was trying to direct him. He felt pathetic. _Never killed a walker?_ She had been dumbfounded. _You'd never be able to survive out here._

He grabbed the monster by its long, stringy hair - it stunk, and he'd try to scrub the small away later, just like he'd tried to scrub the smell away this morning. The knife went in surprisingly easily. Sort of like tree bark (but not really.)

Eyes closed. Chomps silenced. The thing slumped away from him, the rope still around its middle, the knife sticking out of the skull. Silent. Dead. So, very, dead.

Arnold clapped him on the back with a solid hand. A reassuring thud. "Great job Hershel," he said sincerely. "You're a natural."

* * *

It was January.

They lived in Virginia. A state. Not that states necessarily mattered anymore but Judith knew they also lived in a country (United States of America) which was part of a continent (North America) and there were others like it, all over the world. They'd heard, as time went on, how the other people in the other continents were doing. Same situation, everywhere. The dead were getting up and eating each other even in fucking Antartica, the coldest part of the world.

Right now Virginia seemed like the coldest part of the world to Judith. Dead of winter and her thin gloves, just weren't cutting it. She was shadowing Abraham on the wall today, and she thought he might be her least favorite person in the entire world, Antartica and all.

Abraham looked just like Dean Ford, his son, and for some reason, even though it was frigid as all fuck outside, his face was beet red like they'd just run a race.

"We're gettin' trade today - from the Hilltop," he informed her and she perked up at that. Normally she didn't give a shit about the Hilltop or trade or anything, but after her run-in with Rhee, she'd wondered when their trading happened.

Alexandria was certainly self sufficient, but the Hilltop had more bodies, most of them dedicated to farming and they'd had better success with crops, especially in the winter months. Normally they dropped off food for the Alexandrians and in turn, the Alexandrians would give them ammo. Beyond being a teacher and a guard, Eugene and Abraham had themselves a pretty good bullet-making business going and Judith had to hand it to them, it was a pretty well-run operation.

"We'll open up the gate, take what they give us and give them the crates of ammo," he explained.

"Cool," she said, sounding bored.

She turned on her perch and peered down. Daryl was in the distance, carrying two large crates filled with smaller boxes which Judith knew, were filled with bullets. When he came close enough, he dropped them on the ground by the entrance of the gate.

"How's it goin'?" Daryl called up to her, hand over his eyes, peering at her. She shrugged, looking back at Abraham who stood at attention staring in the other direction.

Judith climbed down the ladder to reach the ground to greet him. A welcomed distraction from Abraham's shit show lesson on the gate. He sucked in a breath between his teeth and rubbed his arms with his hands. The temperature had dropped seriously low in the last few weeks.

"It's fuckin' cold," Judith said, answering his question. "And Abraham is a fuckwad."

Daryl cocked his head at her giving her that _be careful_ look. "He is a fuckwad," he agreed. "But he can teach you a lotta shit." She didn't argue with him. She never argued with Daryl. "Got a bunch more of these crates to bring over." He nodded towards the wooden boxes.

"I'll help—" Judith was quick to volunteer, eager to be away from Abraham, but Daryl shook his head.

"You stay up there with red. Learn a little somethin'. Stay warm."

She frowned at him, but obeyed nonetheless, climbing back up the ladder and to the perch. Abraham was still there, to her dismay. She'd sort of hoped he'd have fallen off the wall, or something. He was looking through binoculars now, a ways down the road. "Someone's on their way. Look." He handed her the binoculars.

Judith took them in her hands. Even with her gloves on, she could tell they were slippery. Sweaty. Dude was so fucking gross.

Her eyes focused as she peered into the binoculars. She straightened up. Tried to see where Abraham was looking. "There, you see?" he was pointing, she could see him from the corner of her eye. _No, I can't fucking see._

And then she saw. In the distance, on one of the high roads. A truck barreling towards them on the empty road. Judith imagined this road was never really crowded, even when the world was what it used to be, but what the hell did she know? She could only imagine.

"Five minutes out?" she asked.

Abraham looked at her quickly, then back towards the road. "Seems about right." He sounded surprised. Judith handed him back the binoculars and he took them, bringing them up to his face. Watching. She wasn't sure for what. It wasn't like the car was going to suddenly blow up.

They waited, standing together, shoulder to shoulder. Judith heard Daryl below them again, depositing his crates, then going back for more. She thought maybe he'd be pleased to see how fucking _obedient_ Judith was being, even though he had to know she'd much rather be shadowing him.

The truck was old and beat up, a large silver flat bed on the back with boxes, labeled in someone's sloppy scribble. It slowed to a stop just outside the gate, breaks squealing like a fearful pig. The passenger rolled the window down. "We're from the Hilltop," a man shouted at Abraham.

Her unjustifiably sweaty companion nodded at the man, then turned to Judith. "Let's get down to open the gates." He looked up, past her. "Looks like Daryl's just about done."

She obeyed, climbing carefully down the ladder and landed on the solid ground. Then, together with Abraham, they slid the gate open to reveal the truck that was still running. Slowly, it eased forward, until it was inside the walls. Judith closed the gate behind the truck, inhaling the exhaust from the car - a sharp, but not necessarily unpleasant smell.

Two men climbed out of the passenger side to start unloading the truck. When Judith looked up she saw that Daryl had brought Eugene, Sasha and Michonne along to help with the last load of bullets.

They all grunted greetings as each other and Judith came up along the side of the car. When she stopped, she looked through the window and there he was, again. Rhee. He looked the same. Small, scared and innocent. His hair was a little longer - messy sort of. Swept to the side. It was sort of endearing, actually. She wondered if he'd killed a walker yet. She wondered if he remembered her.

Her finger tapped on the window. "Hey!" Her breath fogged up the glass and he turned, startled. Recognition swept over his face like a wave. He gave a lopsided smile and opened the window.

"Judith." He remembered her name. A warmth spread down her neck.

"Hi Rhee," she said. "Cold enough for you?"

He gave a laugh. She tried to figure out if it was forced or not, but it seemed genuine. "Fucking freezing," he said under his breath. "What are you doin' out here?"

"Training up at the wall," she said with a nod. "Pretty boring. Not as exciting as going out to trade." Judith didn't even know how to drive.

He shrugged. "I guess. There's not much to it."

"Judith!" a voice from the distance caught her attention. Her father. His _stern_ voice.

"See you," she mouthed back to Rhee and he nodded at her with a little bit of a smile that she wouldn't be able to get out of her head for weeks afterwards. She jogged towards her father who seemed to always appear out of nowhere.

He looked agitated for some reason and she hated that look. The one he gave her when he'd say her full name in a moment of anger. _JUDITH GRIMES._ No middle name. Apparently that used to be a thing, but she thought it was pretty dumb. Carl's middle name was Richard and he hated it.

"Whatsup," she said quickly, a little nervously.

"You're done for the day," he said with a nod.

"What?" Judith shook her head. "We haven't even had lunch yet."

"More tomorrow," he mumbled. She followed his glance. He was staring at the truck. He was staring through the windshield, over the steering wheel and right at Rhee.

"But Dad," she tried to protest.

"See you at home." And that was that. He'd decided the conversation was over, and so it was. He walked away from her, straight back, mean scowl, hands in fists. Showing his _power_.

She didn't understand where that sudden anger had come from. Why it was directed at her. Why it sort of seemed to be directed at Rhee. Daryl had mentioned him not being fond of someone at the Hilltop, but _Rhee_? Kid wouldn't have hurt a fly.

Instead of debating, she took off, back towards the house, wondering but not asking.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Storm

**Forbidden**

Chapter Four - The Storm

 _ **A/N:** I abandoned this story and hate myself for it. But I had some inspiration to write today! Hope you guys enjoy...thanks for reading! _

* * *

They returned late in the afternoon. It was even colder than it had been this morning, if that was even possible. The gates were tall, wooden and locked shut as Hershel pulled up. He liked being the driver on runs. It made him feel important. Useful.

The doors opened, welcoming them. Open arms into their safe haven. Hershel pulled the truck inside, parking it nearby the armory which was attached to their home. Momma always wanted eyes on the weapons. Wanted to make sure the only people who could get to them were people she could trust. And she had good reason to want that.

He parked the truck, letting the rest of the crew exit, jumping out himself, swinging the keys on his pointed finger. Whistling. Looking up at the house where he knew his mother was, tending to the wood stove to make sure it was warm when he got home. His Momma was a strong woman, an infallible leader, but she was also a damn good homemaker.

After they'd unloaded the truck, took count of their ammo for the second time and stocked up the armory, the other two men went on their way. Hershel walked into his house, the smell of cooked meat hitting his nostrils. The kitchen came into view and Maggie was there along with Jesus and Earl, the other men that lived in the house with them.

"Hi Hersh," Jesus said, looking up from his meal.

"Dinner's on the stove," Maggie instructed him, not looking up from her notebook that she was writing in - no doubt pouring over the ammo numbers the men had given her.

He went to the kitchen obediently, loading up his plate with dinner, thick beef in a soupy stock and mashed potatoes. The smell caused his stomach to growl so when he sat down at the table, he ate quickly to fill his stomach.

"How was the run?" Earl asked Hershel and he looked up, looking around at the table. Jesus had perked up too, his eyes on Hershel but his mother hadn't stopped writing in her notebook.

"It was good." He was afraid to share too much.

"What did you think of Alexandria?" That was his mother, but she still wasn't looking at him.

"It was alright. Different from here." And that was the honest truth.

His mother gave nod. "They're not set up to sustain themselves like we are," she said with a bit of pride. "Though we do need them to keep stocked on ammo."

"The people there seemed nice."

Maggie looked up then, raising an eyebrow. "Did you talk to anyone?"

Hershel broke into a cold sweat. If he lied to her, she'd know. "Yes," he said, feeling small. He took another bite of his dinner.

"Who?" she asked sternly, narrowing her eyes.

"One of the kids," Hershel answered, looking over at Earl and Jesus who had gone back to eating their food.

"Oh," Maggie said feigning curiosity. "Did you happen to catch their name?"

Hershel wondered why she was asking. "Her name was Judith."

His mother's face and body tensed as he said it and instantly he wished he could take it back. He didn't know why, but the mood in the room suddenly shifted, like everyone knew something that Hershel didn't. It made him feel small and guilty for reasons he wasn't able to explain.

Jesus and Earl stood up from the table at the same time, collecting their plates and disappearing from the room quickly. The silence was unbearable. He couldn't stand it.

"Is there…a problem?" Hershel asked, looking at his mother who had gone back to writing in her notebook.

"Nope," she said, then made a straight line with her lips.

"You're not very good at hiding things Momma," he said honestly, and she looked back up at that declaration.

She gave him a heavy sigh.

"Hersh," she began, looking like she was choosing her carefully. "Judith," she said slowly, "I know her."

"How?" Hershel asked curiously.

Maggie had closed her eyes, scrunching them closed, like she was remembering something painful. Hershel watched her, studying her movements.

"She's Rick's daughter."

"The leader of Alexandria?" Hershel asked, pulling from previous conversations he'd had with his mother and others in the community. Confusion plagued him. "Why would that be a bad thing?"

"I know Rick. I know most of those people in Alexandria," his mother admitted, opening her eyes to gauge his expression. "We were…part of a group. Back when we had to run and survive on the outside. They knew Aunt Beth." She paused, sucking in a deep breath. "They knew your Daddy."

"They knew Daddy?" Hershel echoed.

"Yes," Maggie nodded. "They were…" her voice trembled, "they were there when he died."

Silence returned and Hershel tried to think of something to say, but his words were lost. He had so many questions. This revelation was a big one. Why did they live at the Hilltop if Momma knew all of those people? What did they know about his Dad? Did they know he was Glenn's son?

But before he could think much further, there was a loud knock at the door.

His mother stood from the table and gave him a _we'll talk about this later_ look before she headed towards the door.

"Dante?" Maggie said, sounding surprised as she opened the door to reveal a handsome, bearded man. Dante had a thing for Momma. All of the Hilltop knew it. "What's wrong?"

Dante was a guard at the gate and he was breathing heavily, like he'd just run a long distance. "Maggie," he said between breaths. "There's a storm coming."

Hershel came to the door behind his mother to peer outside. Sure enough the sky behind Dante was green and gray, the wind threatening, beginning to pick up the debris lying on the ground.

"A storm?" Maggie asked, raising an eyebrow. "You came to tell me that a storm is coming?"

Dante shook his head. "Not just a storm Maggie. We were lookin' - through the binoculars. There's a funnel cloud, in the distance." He paused to catch his breath again. "Maggie, I think it's a tornado."

* * *

What happened next was a whirlwind. Hershel was crushed between Jesus and Earl as they all stuffed themselves in the basement of their house, along with at _least_ half of the rest of the Hilltop. It was crowded and hot and smelled of body odor and manure, no doubt from the farmers who never seemed to wash the smell away. Hershel wondered where the rest of their people were.

Above, Hershel heard frantic footsteps, running and the wind outside had somehow become louder. He was at the base of the stairs in their large basement, looking up the dark stairwell at the door, waiting for his mother to come down.

The roar above became louder, and suddenly he panicked.

"Where is she?" he asked Jesus, sounding more terrified than he wanted to.

"She's comin'," he said, reassuringly giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You know your Momma. She just wants to make sure everyone is safe."

Hershel didn't respond. He'd heard of tornados before. They'd had a few scares over the years, but nothing that had ever swept this close to their community. He knew they were storms, strong storms, that destroyed everything in their path. Whether or not Maggie was the leader of the Hilltop or not, she was up there, and he couldn't just sit and wait.

He stood up.

"Hershel," Jesus said warningly behind him. "She'll come."

But he ignored him, took off up the stairs and flung the door open.

The windows of the house were completely dark, like someone had thrown a blanket over them and the wind was howling against them, shaking the glass in the frame so forcefully, Hershel was sure it would break.

"Momma?" he shouted, running to the front door.

He tugged at it, but wasn't able to open it. The force of the wind outside was too great. Footsteps behind him told him that Jesus would be pulling him back down into the basement at any moment.

"Hershel!" he yelled. He waited for Jesus to tell him to get back down into the basement, that his mother was coming, but instead, he came behind him and helped him to tug the door open.

After a few seconds they got the door open and Hershel couldn't believe his eyes.

In the distance, only a mile or so out, was a massive funnel cloud. The top was puffy, dark and angry, the base of it, white. It touched the ground way beyond the wall and made a loud, crushing noise. At the base of it, Hershel could see, everything around it, in the wake of the twister, came up, flying into the funnel and disappearing into the vortex.

He was frozen with fear. His mother, Dante and a few others, ran towards the house, trying to shout over the storm that was approaching closer by the minute, almost at the wall. They struggled, visibly, against the wind and Hershel realized, the closer his mother came, that she was crying.

But he decided not to worry about that now, he held the door open with all of his might as they all ran into the house, then collectively went towards the basement, hurling down the stairs for cover.

* * *

The noise was deafening, shattering the house above them. Hershel was sure he heard walls collapse, glass break, objects being flung every which way above them. He wondered what would be left when they came up from the basement. He wondered who had been left behind, and if they would survive. And what about the animals? Their vehicles? The other homes? All of their crops?

He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his knees to his chest, wishing this was just a bad dream - wishing he could block the noise out. Jesus had his arm around him tightly and hugged him to his chest and Hershel felt himself melt into the comfort. He was considered an adult now, but that didn't mean he wasn't scared.

The people around him were panicked - some were crying, some were searching for their family members who hadn't made it to the basement. Dante was trying to reassure everyone that there was a basement beneath one of the other houses in the Hilltop, but Hershel could see the fear, very clearly, on his face.

Finally, it passed. A collective sense of relief came over the crowd in the basement, and they all waited until Maggie's okay to come up to the ground floor.

Hershel waited until most of the crowd had dispersed, unsure of what he would find at the top of the stairs. He heard cries and sobs and gasps as people came to the top, so he knew, whatever it was, it wasn't good. He stomach clenched, anxiety sweeping over him until Jesus finally forced him to his feet and guided him up the stairs.

The house - at least, the bottom floor of it, was still standing. It had been made from a thick brick, so Hershel supposed it would have been difficult for the tornado to destroy, but the entire second floor looked as though it wasn't there. The stairs still stood in the same place, leading up to nothingness.

Maggie had rushed to the armory, in an effort to salvage the weapons. Jesus had made a run out to the stables to check to the animals. Dante and Earl had gone to check on the people.

Rubble surrounded him in every direction - dirt, grass, twigs, bricks, rocks, covered what had once been their clean, spotless kitchen. The bathroom downstairs had no wall anymore, the front windows had, as Hershel imagined they would, shattered. He was stepping over belongings, glass, something that mysteriously looked like walker guts and to his, and everyone else's dismay - bullets.

When he came out of the house, he was aware that there wasn't just debris on the ground - there were also pieces of houses, clothing, crops that were now destroyed, and as he looked even further, he saw a few huddled figures on the ground that he wished he could ignore, but knew they were probably bodies of people he knew.

But the worst part of it all, was the wall. Their wall. The one they'd worked so hard to protect.

It was gone.

And so Hershel stood, in the midst of their destruction, looking around in disbelief, feeling very much like he could cry.


End file.
